Pop Burns, the oldest hand on the X Bar X ranch, claimed that he had “inventedâ€� the brand for Temple Manley, the grandfather of Roy and Teddy. Pop was inordinately boastful of this distinction, which he had conferred on himself, and he never tired of telling newcomers how he had happened to hit on the device of the “two sawbucks with a piece of rail fence in between,â€� as he sometimes described it. So vain was he of the mark that he placed it on everything brandable—saddles, bridles, wagons, the autos, and all. Jim Casey claimed he had even caught Pop marking Jim’s fancy vest with the X Bar X, but this the veteran denied.
“Yes, sir, there’ll certainly be something doing if those rustlers take any of our stuff,� Teddy went on. “Pop would be on their necks in a minute! I can just see the old geezer raving mad, and frothing around about: ‘Steal one of my brands, will ye? I’ll get ye fer that if it takes me ten years!’ Oh, baby!� and Teddy laughed.
“That’s right!� Roy remarked. “But, say, I hope dad’s train is late. If it isn’t, we’ll never make it! Come on, let’s hit it up!�
The boys urged the horses to a faster pace, and, somewhat winded, reached the station at Eagles in a cloud of dust, much of which clung to them and their mounts, where they slipped from the saddles with grunts of relief. They tied the three horses to a hitching rail not far from the station and concealed from the highway and the railroad office by a rough shack that served as freight and express depot.
“Yep, she’s late, all right,� announced Foley, the ticket agent, as the boys tramped into the station. “All of thirty minutes behind time. Your dad’s comin’ today, ain’t he? I see you got General out there. Spotted him when ye swung around to tie up. That road to your place must be some dusty, with the wind blowin’ up your back, hey?�
“I’ll tell a maverick it is!� agreed Roy, and then he and his brother, after a glance about the dingy waiting room, sauntered out to look over the town.
Perhaps “town� would be dignifying Eagles beyond its merits. There was a main street, consisting of two restaurants, a post-office, six stores and the railroad station. A little way down the track was a large corral, used as a temporary retention place for dealers who sent their steers to this point to be shipped. Often there would be a delay of a day or more before sufficient cattle cars would arrive at Eagles.
It was the cattle that brought the station; the station brought the town, and the town brought all sorts of things, one of which was now leaning against the front of Rimor’s Place, hat pulled low over his face, smoke from an invisible cigarette drifting lazily about his head.
Rimor’s Place was one of the two restaurants, although as an eating house it failed to qualify. Yet its habitues were never heard to complain of the quality of its food. The “hard-stuff� was good.
“There’s a tough-looking baby,� Teddy said in a low voice, nodding toward the figure of the man outside of Rimor’s. “Seems like his breakfast had soured on him.�